


for a few seconds, this place was armageddon

by fracturedvaels



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4599087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fracturedvaels/pseuds/fracturedvaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders overestimated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for a few seconds, this place was armageddon

Anders overestimated.

He doesn’t know where he went wrong. A little too much drakestone, he thinks, or he crushed the powder too fine. And the blast went off and nearly _blinded_ him. Maker. _Maker_.

And now his head is ringing. Spirits working inside him to repair the damage he’s done to himself; and his instinct is to leap up, to start healing others. But he can’t heal the dead.

Isabela’s screaming rings in his ears. He looks at her and the - the _thing_ \- the _body_ in her arms. Dark hair, pointed ears; damaged ears, now, poked with holes, and blood from her mouth painting her chin and neck red. Her eyes are on him, dead as they are - glassy and imperfect, now, with the half-lidded stare of the dead.

Isabela is making noise, but no words. Every attempt sounds like the hiccup of a sobbing babe as she goes on, shriller and shriller, voice rougher and rougher. _Ki_ , she tries, _ki - ki - ki - ki_ \- and then she’s burying her face on bloodied collarbones, cradling Merrill’s body back and forth and giving off those shrill, horrible sobs.

And not just her. He sees the Knight-Commander lying on the ground near him, gasping and heaving. She’s not looking at him, but she’s staring, too, with her hand extended and fingers curled like she’s pointing to him. Her side is gaping open and shredded exposing delicate organ and bone, and though Orsino is leaning over her - begging, uncharacteristically soothing - Anders can tell there’s no point. Her ageless blond curls are soaked with blood and glittered with ashes; the comfort is cold in the promise of death.

He watches, wanting to feel sick glee as she moves a hand into her own side and Orsino has to pull it back out again. He wants to feel powerful in the wake of her imminent demise. He just feels soured.

They aren’t his only casualties.

Hawke has Carver in his arms. Carver _seems_ fine, whole, healthier, but his mouth is a mash of blood and his breathing terrible and ragged. Hawke’s doing what he can for him, using techniques Anders himself had taught. Carver will be fine. _Carver will be fine_. He has to be fine, he will be.

Not like Merrill. Or Meredith. Or - Maker - Aveline and Donnic. He’s never seen someone impaled; if he looks too closely it looks like Aveline tried shielding Donnic. But you can’t shield from flying, flaming metal, and they died with her head pushed into his neck.

No one, Anders realizes, is unscathed. Even Fenris, kneeling in front of Merrill and Isabela, trying to soothe his friend; or Varric, helping Hawke with Carver, who’s coming to now; or even Orsino, who against his own nature - against what Anders _wants him to do_ \- is helping the _bloody Templars_. There are mages dead and dying and he’s wasting mana on healing recruits.

Anders wants to be angry at him. But the same recruits he heals move to help the mages. It’s jarring, disassociating, knocking his world out of whack. Inside his head, Justice is silent; Anders stands among them unharmed.

Well, Anders and _him._

Sebastian stands on the peripheral of the group. Were he lesser, Anders would joke that that’s all he’s been - peripheral. But he’s unharmed because Hawke was successful in shielding him, having pulled him into his arms and throne up a weak barrier. Hawke was never good at barriers, just _good enough_. Anders wanted to be angry that it had been wasted on blighted Sebastian Vael, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t something to be angry over.

“Was it worth it?” Sebastian finally says. He’s quiet, trembling, and Anders can see now - can see cuts and scrapes on his cheeks, his jaw, see a bruise on the corner of his mouth blossoming out. He looks at Anders and he seems suddenly so small, so, so small; the part of Anders that’s always been compassionate, always been protective feels the tug. _Reach out_ , it screams, **_comfort._** But Anders has long since smothered that voice, particularly with regards to Sebastian. He doesn’t heed it’s call now.

“Was it worth it, Anders?” He repeats. When Anders only stares at him, Sebastian pulls his eyes away. He shuffles past bodies to get to Hawke and Carver and Varric, crouching down on their level. Carver is sitting up, with Varric’s help, and Hawke is trying to heal his own damaged shoulder.

Anders feels a hot breeze on the back of his neck, and hears with it - carried through the streets of Lowtown - the screams of those in the city unfortunate enough to be caught in the damaging blast.

Anders does not move. He doesn’t move when the rest finally turn to him, when Orsino raises his stave, when Templars raise their swords. He does not move when Fenris accepts Merrill’s body into his arm as Isabela raises to her feet, snarl on her blood and ash and tear stained face. He does not move when Varric reaches for Bianca, or Hawke pushes to his feet, helping a still-winded Carver to stand. He’d never wanted _this_. And now…

Anders had overestimated. He would take what Justice was to come.

**Author's Note:**

> please kick me ass @ http://liviuserimond.tumblr.com/


End file.
